Unspoken
by azkabcn
Summary: It's Sherlock's birthday. After John gets him a present that he really wasn't expecting, he has no choice but to confess what he discovered that morning. It was just as well that John had discovered the same thing. One-shot.


One of the first things people did when they met for the first time was compare the unique tattoos on their wrists. So if a new tattoo formed, they know who it belonged to. They knew who they'd fallen in love with. Well, most of the time they did.

My tattoo was a violin. A tiny violin inked in the inside of my left wrist. I never really cared to know who my love would be, or who I would spend the rest of my life with. But I knew I couldn't stay in that mind set forever.

I was bound to find him someday. I was bound to wake up someday to see some guy's tattoo just above my own. I didn't know whether I would know the guy or not, but I didn't really care.

I just didn't expect to wake up on my twenty-ninth birthday, get into the shower and find a rifle above my violin. A rifle. John's tattoo.

When I first saw it, just as I switched the shower on, I froze. I brought my wrist to my eyes, perfectly sure I was being deceived. But no. The gun was there perfectly clearly. I groaned.

This wasn't happening to me. I was hoping the tattoo that appeared on my wrist belonged to a man that I didn't know. If that was the case, it would have meant that I didn't have to go through all the explaining and romantic gestures. I was never good at that sort of thing.

Ignoring the rifle as best I could, I finished my shower, changed into my suit and went downstairs. There was no sign of John, and for that I was relieved. It meant that I didn't have to feel uncomfortable around him.

Even though this situation meant that I loved him, I dreaded having to tell him. What if he didn't love me back? What if he loved another person? What if…

 _Stop. Think positively, Sherlock. Happy, positive thoughts._

No. I couldn't think positively here. It just wasn't possible.

I went into the kitchen, planning on getting myself a coffee for breakfast. But there was something on the table top that drew my attention. A box, wrapped up in paper that was littered with skulls. It sat separate from my lab equipment, which had been pushed to one side of the table. A note lay atop it in John's round, cursive handwriting:

 _Dear Sherlock,_

 _You must have noticed the box on the kitchen table, I'm sure. It's for you, as a temporary birthday present. Open it now, if you want to. Or wait until later, it's totally up to you._

 _I have just gone into town to get you your REAL birthday present. You know, your main one. A better one. I'll be back in a couple of hours or so._

 _Happy birthday, Mr Holmes. Have a brilliant day._

 _John x_

I didn't know whether to open the present now or wait until John arrived. Every time my fingers crept towards the box, I would snatch them away, unsure of what to do.

Finally, I decided to open it and get it over and done with. I tore off the paper mercilessly. I screwed it up and threw it into the flip top bin, sighing when it bounced off the lid and landed next to the rest of the rubbish on the floor.

We really needed to start doing our rubbish again, or Mrs Hudson would have us out of here.

I pulled off the masking tape that John had used to keep the box closed.

Inside was a book. A leather hardback with a black cover. At the top, in golden velvet, it said 'Manuscript Paper'. A tiny square of paper that sat on the top told me to P.T.O, so I carefully lifted the book out of the box and turned it over in my hand.

In the bottom left hand corner, in the same golden velvet inscription, a message was written:

 _Happy birthday, Sherlock Holmes,_

 _I got you this because I remembered you telling me how you were going to return to composition on your violin. I sneaked a peek at your old one and as it was in such a bad condition, I decided this would do you well._

 _Hope you have a fantastic day, Sherlock._

 _Your best friend,_

 _John_

I opened the book, a smile glued to my face, to see pages and pages of music manuscript paper.

My smile grew wider. I remembered the day I told him that and subconsciously knew he'd hunt out my old binded booklet.

I shook my head fondly. I realised now why I had a rifle above my violin. I realised why this was happening.

* * *

True to his word, John walked through the door an hour and a half later.

'Hey, Sherlock!' he called.

I halted once again. The events of this morning seemed to have lodged themselves sharply in my mind once again. I snuck a quick glance at my wrist and then pulled my shirt sleeve down.

'Sherlock? Where are you? I've got your present!'

'In- in the living room!' I called back, trying to swallow the lump in my throat as I sat in my chair.

'Hey!' he greeted me. 'Happy birthday, Sherlock!' He had a plastic bag clutched in his hand.

I failed to meet his gaze. 'Thank you, John,' I replied.

'Did you open your first present?' he asked. He sat in his own chair, placing the bag between his feet.

'What? Oh, yes. Yes I did.'

'Did you like it?' His voice was so anxious that I found myself looking deep into his beautiful eyes.

 _Don't get carried away, Sherlock._

'Yes. Thank you.'

There was a pause, but it was neither awkward nor uncomfortable.

'Do you want to open your other one now?'

I swallowed again. 'Yes please.'

He reached inside the bag, pulled out another (much smaller) box and extended his arm. I stood up to take the box from him. I found myself smiling while ripping the blue paper away.

I was left holding a black velvet box in my hand. I raised an eyebrow but didn't question the matter. I unclasped and opened it.

When I saw what was inside, my jaw dropped.

It was a watch. A diamond watch. _Diamond._ A golden diamond watch that must have cost John at least a thousand pounds, if not two.

I looked at him. He looked so afraid that I might not like it that I just had to smile.

'Do you like it, Sherlock?' he whispered.

I found myself speechless. 'John,' I breathed. 'It's… beautiful. Really, _really_ beautiful… but…'

'What?'

'I… I don't deserve this. I don't deserve this _at all_.' I shook my head.

John stood up. 'Of course you do. You deserve it all.'

'But… why?' I whispered, looking up at him.

'Because it's your birthday.'

'But it must have cost you so much.'

'And it was all worth it. Because it was for _you_.'

I sighed. I started fastening the watch on my right wrist. 'I… have nothing to say… it's just… beautiful.'

'Sherlock, don't you normally wear your watches on your left wrist?' John enquired.

I paused. _Damn_. I was caught out now. I didn't know what to do; I didn't know what to say.

'What's going on?' he asked me suspiciously.

I gulped, and started rolling up my left sleeve. I watched as his eyes focused on my wrist.

'Sherlock, is that…?'

I nodded.

I saw him inhale as he followed my actions. I started from his wrist, where his rifle sat. My eyes drifted up his arm, past the flower and the vase and the skull and numerous other tattoos before I got to the top, very near the crook of his elbow. The tattoo at the top was a violin. It was _my_ violin.

'John-'

I didn't past his name, before he crashed our lips together. He held my shoulders as I placed my hands on his waist. My body was tingling all over and soon, the tingling gave way to the burning. My body felt like it was on fire. I felt like I was a living inferno. John let his hands veer up towards my hair and he tangled his fingers in my curls, pulling softly. I smiled against his lips, wondering why I had worried so much.

Finally, we pulled apart, breathing heavily. The heat hadn't yet left my body. John rested his forehead against mine.

'Do you understand now why I bought you that watch, Sherlock?' John asked me softly.

I took my time, pretending to think. I smirked. 'Yes, I think so.'

John smiled, and his smile brightened his whole face. 'Good. Happy birthday, love.'

The space between our lips was reduced to nothing once again, this time in a much softer and less demanding kiss.

And I loved it.

* * *

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